Turn Left For Fate
by Trins xxx
Summary: On the evening that Rhaegar crowns Lyanna Stark the Queen of Love and Beauty, two words written in a letter to Elia Martell alters her actions and consequently changes the course fate had initially outlined, AU.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer****: **I do not own A Game of Fire and Ice. I know who my protagonist would be, if I did.

**Author's Note****: **I admit to joining the fanbase of A Game of Fire and Ice late, only after watching Game of Thrones. And out of all the tragedies and characters that I have read about, I feel that one of the saddest was Elia Martell and her children's fates. I also think, being the sister of Doran and Oberyn, the daughter of a ruling princess – it all gave her such scope. This is my AU take on it – the changes are as follows. Elia originally had never left her chambers on the night that Rhaegar crowned Lyanna Stark Queen of Love and Beauty. This story alters it such that, as a result of receiving a letter, she did leave her camp and found Rhaegar and Lyanna Stark having a clandestine meeting. Secondly, instead of being sent to King's Landing before the tourney, Jaime Lannister stayed here and was present for the crowning of the Queen of Love and Beauty. The rest, I feel, are potentially as in keeping with what is canon about Elia Martell and all the characters involved as anything else.

I also want to drop a line about some of the stories that initially inspired me to write an Elia Martell-centric AU story. **Failed to De-Anon **and their story, A welcome back to the home he left behind was the first one that I read that hooked me in. I also loved their Realignment and Changed Circumstances stories. **Ramzes **and any of the stories relating to the Martells, but in particular, Lady of Dorne has been hugely inspirational, as much for the manner of writing as the plot. If there is a story with Elia in it, chances are I have at least glimpsed at it and I owe all the authors of any Elia-centric story some gratitude.

Finally, please enjoy the story. Or if you don't, please tell me what you disliked about it. This is essentially a prologue (which ended up being surprisingly long), focussing almost solely on Elia. From the next chapter onwards, it shall include far more characters.

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><p><span><strong>Turn Left For Fate<strong>

**Sound of a broken heart**

'Don't stay in bed, unless you can make money in bed.'

~ _George Burns _~

It had been a split moment decision, borne of reading two words, that found Elia Targaeryan, née Martell, wandering outside in the dark. It felt like each step she took was laboured and heavy, phantom remnants from the months following her childbirth, but to those that knew her well and loved her dearly, they would have seen a certain strength and sense of purpose that had been not _lacking_ precisely, but _stifled_ since she had changed her title from Princess of Dorne to wife of the Prince of the Iron Throne. To the majority of the people in Harrenhaal, they would have seen a walk that denoted nothing if not royalty.

At this late hour, the wind had picked up speed, stinging the cheeks of any caught unawares outside like slaps from a scorned lover, ever so representative of the turmoil her emotions were in right now. There was too much salt in the air and none of the delicate aroma of sand, spices and Dorne for it to remind Elia of home, but if she couldn't enjoy the precious sun that her banners bore, she was ready to bask in the wind that reminded her of sandstorms from her childhood. Oberyn would have scoffed at this, Doran would smile indulgently and the memory of those two caused her throat to constrict a bit further.

What would they do in the precarious situation she found herself in?

Her steps had found her searching for Ashara but the Dornish beauty was nowhere to be found. They had both imbibed plenty of wine, the rich, the sweet and the ones that were a little dry too. It amused Elia endlessly that for all her frail health, none of the ladies could drink quite as much as she could, and without overt inebriation too.

Not so frail with the alcohol, she thought sardonically.

Nobody knew better than Elia which activities her dearest friend was most liable to be involved in when in her cups – more often than not, she had been the one to encourage it, sometimes even instigate it, particularly in their younger days. In the here and now, she was desperate for someone to confide in, to discuss the ramifications of her husband's indiscretion. She would find her closest friend undoubtedly enjoying carnal pleasures, and she didn't know whether to sigh or smile, so she did both, allowing her feet to lead her away from the Royal camp as her mind tripped over the various lords, wondering which one of them were Ashara's latest victim. Funny that of all the Martells, Ashara had only ever kissed one. The thought lifted the edges of her delicately shaped lips, the smile gradually fading away as her thoughts returned to the consequences of her husband's folly.

This is how her life falls apart.

Not by war cries or the actions of an increasingly insane and bloodthirsty king, not the impulsive actions of a much beloved brother or the rash impulses and acid tainted words that she has to force herself to swallow time and again, but by the thoughtless stupidity of a husband that still remained dear to her heart, despite it all.

It was the murmur of voices that broke Elia's reverie. Her trained ears picked up the intonations that denoted nobility clearly. She looked around at her surroundings, startled to realise that she had no idea whose camp she was in now. She would have recognised each and every house from the banners raised in the daylight but the velvet darkness of the night was not so helpful.

For a moment, she stood there debating over what she should do – announce her presence or slip away without interrupting what was clearly a private meeting? Except that it wasn't a _private _meeting, it was clandestine. Did that make a difference? _Should _it make a difference? Her husband's actions and his father's brutal madness were leaving her more and more bereft of any power.

And knowledge was power.

She knew what was expected of her as wife of Prince Rhaegar. She also knew what her mother, the inspirational Moniellar, Princess of Dorne, would have done. She crept forward, draping the shadows afforded by the tents around her slender figure like cloaks. These were not the actions of the bride of a Targaryaen, but those of a Princess to rule. Her eyes glittered like poison, a black sun burning from within and yet, for all her cynicism and world-wisely views, there was a single moment when her breath hitched and her eyes widened, before she slipped away in the direction she had come, the dancing rhythm of her heart filling her with renewed life, like a resurrection of sorts.

_Power_, indeed. Her lips curled up in a self-satisfied smile.

Her steps moved swiftly and surely, slithering in the grass. What would her husband think of her actions? Her lips quirked up on the right, more of a smirk than a smile. What would the Mad King think? Her smile broadened at that. It was a strange feeling, this. The hurt was very much there, the humiliation humbled but not gone. There was anger and resentment plenty but there was...hope? A sense of wonder at rediscovering parts of her she had forgotten? Of strength and perseverance, maybe even a sense of superiority? And underlying all of those feelings was... She stilled at the thought.

She wanted vengeance.

Blinking rapidly in a vain attempt to remove the realisation from her mind, she took slower steps, avoiding the few voices that she could hear, all self-satisfaction gone as suddenly as it had arrived. This wasn't her. This wasn't the Elia she had become or the Elia she had been. This was some stranger, a monstrosity leeching onto her soul. Her feet led her to the western outskirts of the camp, lined by trees that appeared to stretch into the sky. It was in the shadows of these trees that Elia's decision was made.

Was this heartbreak?

The beauty was picturesque, the picture hauntingly beautiful. She wished she had never laid eyes on this sight. She didn't think she could ever get rid of it, or rid herself of the _betrayal _and _hopelessness _she felt at that moment. The moonlight glanced off of Rhaegar's face, the intimate dance between light and dark making him seem otherworldly and achingly handsome. The little Wolf-girl sat at his feet, staring up in adoration and wander. She sat in his shadows, absorbing all he could give and he sat tall, his back straight, absorbing her worship like a devastating angel or a redeeming demon.

It made Elia sick.

It was one of the few things she could never give him. For all that he was brought up as the Crown Prince, she had equally been brought up in a land that allowed women to rule by their own rights. Both Elia and Oberyn had been taught the ways of a ruler, though there was no expectation of Doran or his line being lost. Oberyn had chosen to disregard much of the learning but Elia had absorbed them, at the time being second in line to rule Dorne, and she had brought that knowledge into her marriage. For her, Rhaegar had never been a ballad to sing about or a dazzling King to be. He had been a husband and a future ruler that she should help and advise whenever he needed her to. She had come to the marriage offering herself as wife and lover, mother of his children and caregiver to his parents but also as a partner, an advisor who he could unburden himself. Worshipper or flatterer hadn't been any part of the package she had offered.

Was this what he wanted?

It wasn't what he needed – she knew that much for sure. It had long been Elia who had soothed over any minor grievances or offences that Rhaegar had caused in his absentminded ways. But was this what he wanted in a wife? Blind faith, rose-tinted glasses… She could never give him that. He was a husband, no demi-god brought to life.

The ache in her chest refused to abate and her long lashes blinked away tears. Her hood had long fallen back and the wind chipped away at the wet tracks on her face, whipping a few loose tendrils of hers in whichever direction it fancied.

'Elia?'

She started, nearly tripping over her feet in her haste to turn towards the voice.

'Are you okay? Come to my chambers, now,' Ashara led her inside, the faintest hint of worry present.

'I'm fine,' her voice sounded hushed, a remnant from all the knowledge-gathering, no doubt. Despite it all, she followed her friend inside, the panic within her abating enough for her to realise she could (and would) find a way to divert the disaster she could foresee happening. Seating herself comfortably amongst the warm cushions, she turned her dark eyes against amethyst ones. 'Would you care to tell me where you were?' She tried to aim for playful before adding as an afterthought, 'Actually, not where you were but _whom _you were with.'

A slow smile spread across Ashara's face, a smile of feline contentment that made Elia's own lips twitch upwards. 'I was just enjoying what the North had to offer.'

'Poor Eddard Stark. You have damned him for life, you know,' a ghost of a smile drifted across Elia's face.

'Poor Eddard Stark, indeed. He shall never know just what a wonderful time he has missed. Now Lord Brandon on the other hand…' Ashara's words trailed off as Elia suddenly sat forward, humour gone and intense focus present instead.

'You bedded Brandon Stark?' The words were barely loud enough for Ashara to hear but she nodded her head, equal parts uncertainty and defiance.

'It's not only little wolf girls that have pretty smiles,' her eyes glinted darkly, looking ominous in its beauty. 'I thought she deserved to have a taste of what it's like to have someone toy with one's family.' She watched as Elia leaned back, lids hooding her eyes heavily, deep in thought. Much of the time, she reminded Ashara of Moniellar but there moments when she was quick to anger or spitting out biting comments when she was reminded of Oberyn. Right now, Elia looked remarkably like Doran, deep in thoughts and plots and plans. Ashara felt her stomach dropping. Elia had maintained a low profile for much of her married life, only making manoeuvres now and again when roused and doing so in such a subtle that none who were not privy to her plans were aware that she had acted at all. If she was roused now… It was worse than she had feared.

'What do you think of Lord Brandon?' Elia asked in slow, measured words, eyes watching her carefully.

Carelessly shrugging her shoulders, Ashara answered. 'He is well enough…for a wolf. Has some passion and fire that reminds one of Dorne but no great thing.'

'You like him,' Elia smiled gently, eyes mocking her kindly. 'Those are the kindest words I have heard you describe any of your paramours by.'

'He is barely worth a thought,' argued Ashara. 'I am sure dear Eddard Stark will hear about it sooner or later and, well, his feelings for me are well known.' The spite in the violet eyes on her behalf was touching.

'Would you mind being married to him so much?' There was a worried crease between Elia's brow and an expression of true earnestness.

'Married? He is betrothed to the Tully girl.'

'If, for whatever reason, the betrothal came to naught, would it be so ill to be married to him?' Elia persisted, a feverish burning within her eyes that reminded Ashara that it was dangerous to scorn any Martell, even her dear, kind friend.

And the thought of marriage to Brandon Stark… A smile played across her face. Would it be so ill? Not in the least but what need was there for wishful thinking or dreaming of what could never be.

'Good,' breathed out Elia, some tension falling away. 'If you don't mind, dearest Ashara, would you please enjoy as much of Brandon Stark's company as you could?' She paused, her eyes distant. 'In fact, how do you feel about an intimate midnight picnic tomorrow night, with you, Brandon Stark and I?'

'Like when we were children?' Memories ghosted past her mind. The gods knew there were times when she missed Dorne like a mother misses her babe. 'I think it would be a pleasure, my Princess.'

Purple eyes met dark eyes, promising solidarity and a fealty that money could never buy. It was one of those things that made the Martells beloved in much of Dorne. They believed that loyalty and fealty were earned, much like respect, not exacted or expected or bought. And Elia had been as firm a believer of such words as either of her siblings or her parents. She never demanded, always requested, and nothing that she felt would be too much for an individual unless it was for the greater good for the people she ruled; for those reasons alone, Ashara would have done anything Elia asked for her. The fact that her request were much in line with what she wanted to do was a bonus she was going to enjoy for its full worth.

'I think it's time the North met some Dornish charm, do you not think?' Dark eyes were dancing with mischief and it had been such a long time since Ashara had seen her sparkle so.

'I'm sure he will be charmed. Elia,' she paused, unsure how to proceed. 'Anything you need of me, you can ask and I shall give. Are things as serious as you seem to suspect they are?'

There was a pause as shadows paused across Elia's face. Her eyes were unfocused as she spoke. 'I fear they are more serious than I could ever suspect them to be.' Her eyes warmed as they focused on her dearest friend. 'But thank you, my love. Know that I will never ask anything of you that you would not like to give.'

This is how a Princess of Dorne should act.

Her steps feel just as heavy heading back to her chambers, but she herself if aware of the newfound purpose in them. It's so easy for these Targaeryans to look down on her, to forget that with the Martell blood, she also has dragon in her. Dragons need warmth and fire for growth. What could be hotter than the Martell sun and Dornish heat? Maybe it was time to awaken the Dragon within her.

The wind had blown much of her hair free and her dark curls tumbled around her face, wild and free as she felt her own self to be. As she approached her chambers, Ser Oswell called out, demanding to know who she was.

'Princess Elia,' she responded blandly. She watched his face as she approached him, watching the doubt turn into surprise turn into guilt and something suspiciously close to scorn. He had never realised that she had slipped out and escaped him. Nor did he seem to appreciate her worth. If things worked out to her plans, he never would.

'Your grace.'

A polite nod was all the acknowledgment he received. In the darkness lit by a sole candle, she started a letter in response to the one she had received. She wrote elegantly with warmth and brimming with love, and between the words she penned lay the true message she wanted to deliver. She finished it with the two words that had spurred her to leave her chambers in her first act of rebellion as Rhaegar's wife. She knew these would be the words that would call him back, as selfish as it was for her to need him to return. _Miss you_.

Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken.

It was time she lived by the words of her house. Elia Targaeryan was always Elia Martell first, and it was time the seven kingdoms and their Mad King remembered it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer****: **I do not own A Song of Ice and Fire.

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><p><span><strong>Turn Left For Fate<strong>

**Cold Shoulder**

'Expect problems and eat them for breakfast.'

~ _Alfred A. Montapert _~

The sunlight, caressing the lids of Elia's eyes, was strong enough that she could lie in bed and pretend for a few moments more that she was back in Dorne. It was neither forgetfulness of yesterday's events, nor a desire for oblivion that kept her in bed. It was sheer laziness that kept her eyes closed, less from the alcohol consumed and more from the lateness of the previous night.

At last, she stretched, opening her heavy lids, plots and plans already swirling into creation before being discarded for their heavy-handedness. Whilst it was idiocy, arrogance and backhandedness that governed those vying for the Iron Throne, she would not add to the masses of fools. She intended her plans to be far more delicate and therefore, considerably harder to identify. Subtlety would be the key to her victory.

Gowns were laid out for her inspection by one of her handmaidens, a daughter from one of the lesser known houses under the banners of Yronwood. Aoi was a pretty name for a girl with pretty blue eyes, but her face was plain and held a forgettable beauty. It was doubtless for this reason that she had been sent to serve Elia, doubling as an insult. Elia didn't care. If anything, Aoi had afforded her an opportunity to win the heart and favour of admittedly a small house, but a house nonetheless, that followed Yronwood. It might not gain her much loyalty or power but something was always better than nothing.

She had settled on a gown of peach and pale blue, much to Aoi's surprise, when her husband requested admittance to her chambers. Other than a tensing of her fingers, Elia's feelings remained her own, even as Aoi's keen eyes watched her. In a tone as flat as she could make it, she asked Aoi to send her Lord-Husband away as she was still readying for the day. The little lady scuttled away, relaying the message faithfully to Prince Rhaegar, keeping her voice and face blank, but withstanding without any obvious strain the Prince's desire to have words with his wife.

Careful fingers had matched the careful eyes of Aoi as she had dressed Elia and were now busy combing her hair. Down in natural waves, Elia had stated plainly, as Aoi's sharp eyes had once again looked at her, absorbing all that was not being said, when Ashara was freely given entrance to the Princess' chambers.

'Beautiful dress,' was all that the renowned beauty said, sitting herself on the bed comfortably.

'My Princess is looking radiant indeed,' Aoi agreed in a soft voice, eyes glinting sharply and Elia smiled, satisfied. The gown was not of Dornish material or style or colours but she did not need them to be. That they were not Targaeryan colours would be message enough for those who were searching for the kind. And those that didn't pick up the message would be too feeble-witted to be of use to Elia.

Once ready, Aoi bowed respectfully to Elia, preparing to leave when her hand was grasped. 'Aoi, I thank you for your help,' Elia said, her eyes intense and impossible to look away from. 'If you need any in return, let me know,' she pressed her hand once more, burning hot, before letting it drop and nodding her dismissal.

'Am I being replaced?' Ashara questioned with amusement.

'Would you consent to being replaced?' Elia challenged, a genuine smile lifting her lips now. 'Never underestimate those beneath your station or the value they may one day hold,' she said, almost to herself alone. 'Isn't the weather glorious for a walk?' Ashara smiled, rising gracefully and linking her arms with those of Her Princess.

She hadn't been lying when she had complimented Elia on the gown. The pastel colours of the gown enhanced the golden glow of her skin and contrasted starkly with the rich darkness of her hair that she wore down. It was one of a handful of times since her marriage that she wore her hair in the Dornish style but it made her a vision to behold, enhancing her own assets rather that attempting styles that favoured others. Ashara desperately wanted to question her on Rhaegar and Aoi and what all these words, signs, meant but she bit her tongue. She would be wary of asking these questions anywhere private but it would be more than imprudent to say anything in public.

It soon became clear that the casual meanderings held a purpose, heading away from the tents closest to the royal camp, containing those favoured by the king and House Whent. Ashara's enjoyable pastime from the previous night told her that they were heading towards the tents of House Stark and though outwardly she appeared neutral, her nervousness pulled Elia closer to her than they would ordinarily have been, as they strolled.

'Nervous, Ashara?' Elia teased her friend, a smile not quite mocking her.

'Of what?' She retorted, resisting the childish urge to pull her friend's hair. It would do neither of them any service. On the other hand, it would give her immense satisfaction.

'Of whom, perchance?' Elia had answered like for like, something dangerously akin to a smirk teasing at her lips. Before Ashara could say (or do) anything, a boy younger than ten summers had bumped into the princess. Stammering out an apology, or presumed apology – he seemed fairly incomprehensible, blushing wildly and arduously avoiding eye contact – Elia cut short his suffering. 'Dear boy, it's alright. As you see, I have neither fallen, nor been injured, so there's no need to worry. What you may do is accompany us to Lord Brandon Stark, if you please?'

Her eyes were quite kind when wide brown eyes met hers. 'Brandon Stark?' The boy repeated the name in disbelief, face pale and suspicious. 'What do you want to see him for?'

'I don't think The Princess needs to explain herself to you, does she?' Ashara interrupted crossly, unsure whether the aggravation was from the boy or from Elia's words. It melted away into guilt when she saw the fear electrify his face.

'Ashara,' Elia admonished her under her breath. 'Don't worry about my friend. She's always cross before she's eaten,' she spoke to the boy, smiling brightly for his sake and adding a wink to good effect. 'And no need to apologise,' she hastened to add, seeing his mouth open, undoubtedly to pour more incomprehensible apologies out. 'Would you be kind enough to escort us around? It would be a great favour,' she added gravely, eyes twinkling with humour at Ashara.

'Yes, your majesty. Of course, your majesty,' the words tripped out of his mouth in a nervous rush.

'Please call me Elia. Your majesty makes me feel so old. And what is your name, my sweet?'

'Benjen, your- Elia?' He ended uncertainly and Ashara had to admit that there was a certain appeal in a little boy so keen to be polite. She wouldn't object to having a little boy like him, one day, but those thoughts were for another time.

'Lovely. And what game were you playing?' She arched a quizzical eyebrow playfully, adding in a conspiratorial tone, 'My brother and I used to play Monster Snakes. He was always the Monster Snake.'

Finally dislodging a smile, he answered her bashfully. 'Wolves and Monsters.'

'Were you the Wolf or the Monster?'

'Wolf, ma'am,' he answered instantly, as though scandalised that he could have been anything else. Almost certainly a Stark, Elia thought and if Ashara's immediate interest was an indication, she had come to the same conclusion. The strolling resumed, with Benjen chatting now animatedly to Elia and Ashara suffering in silence. Little more than ten minutes had passed when there was a yell and someone stumbled into Elia again, this time large enough and strong enough to unceremoniously tackle her to the groung. Gathering all of her wrath within her to demolish any that dared harm Elia, however unintentional, Ashara was forestalled by the little boy.

'Ned!' He sounded indignant and even a little fierce. 'How dare you? It's _The Princess_,' his stance was aggressive. He looked prepared to go on the offensive on Elia's behalf, to protect her and nothing else he could have done would have endeared him to Ashara more. There was a repeat of apologies and bright red cheeks hidden with little facial hair as he helped Elia up, apologising ever more profusely when he noticed a tear in her gown a little below her bust.

'Don't worry about me. I am no frail flower,' Her smile was kind but there was defiance as she spoke. 'Ned? Eddard Stark, aren't you? It's a pleasure to meet you,' she said, the words falling readily enough, such that even she wasn't certain of their verity. 'We were just searching for your older brother. Benjen, you never told me you were Lord Brandon's younger brother,' she turned her eyes to the little boy, who started at the words. 'Before you apologise, _again_, let me tell you that Wolves have a duty to the Truth and not just to fight off Monsters,' she told him, faux serious.

'No, no, I was never _lying_,' he reassured her, too young to comprehend the amusement in her eyes. 'You never asked me, so I never told you. But it wasn't _lying_ because I didn't tell you I _wasn't_ his brother,' he said earnestly, eyes wide. Ashara had to bite back a smile. Elia had always had a way, particularly with children and she was sure to have a new avid fan in this one. She had vanity enough, though, to realise that throughout the discourse, Ned's eyes had remained trained on her and to feel gratified. She was also human enough to feel guilt and was firm in keeping her eyes trained on Elia's profile.

'Well, fine, as long as you weren't actually _lying_,' Elia told him sombrely, her lips unable to resist twitching upwards. 'But you must guard me better, Little Wolf. What if your brother had been a _Bandit_ or a _Pirate_?' She turned her eyes to the older brother. 'Your little brother has been kind enough to act as a guide and a guard both. We have been very impressed with the skills he has shown us.'

'You're too kind, Your Majesty,' Ned blushed brightly, eyes unable to stay on the Princess for longer than a few seconds before returning to the beautiful vision beside her.

'Not at all,' she said politely. 'But perhaps you could lead us to Lord Brandon?' She hinted without subtlety. She had forgotten that most men could barely function when faced with Ashara.

'Of course,' Ned agreed quickly and they resumed their walk, this time without the easy banter that had filled the silence.

'It's lovely weather,' Ashara lied through her teeth, the silence suffocating her to madness. Ned did little but blush furiously, quickly removing his eyes from her. Fortunately, his little brother was made of sterner stuff.

'It's not really. It's _paltry_ weather,' he explained to Elia kindly. 'The weather in the North is far more famous. You can get blizzards with snowfall for days and the wind swirls it around.' In turn, Elia told him about the sandstorms from the land of her birth, and the scorching heat. He watched her with an open mouth, enraptured. They eventually reached an innocuous looking tent, a little larger than the surrounding ones.

'I believe he should be up by now,' Ned's voice sounded choked and uncertain and he was careful to avoid everyone's gazes. 'I can find out for you?'

'_I'll_ find him for you,' Benjen walked inside with purpose before anyone could try and stop him. His youthful high-pitched voice carried outside with ease. 'Brandon? Good, you're awake. _The Princess_ is here to see you. You _never_ told me she was _so_ beautiful,' he reproached his older brother. 'But she's here, and I have vowed to bring her to you,' he paused with confusion. 'I mean, you to _her_, but she was walking so I suppose I brought her to you. But at _her _request.'

His words faltered at the laughter that erupted and his countenance was pouting furiously when he came outside. 'If you will follow me, I can take you to see him,' he spoke stiffly, unbending only at Elia's smile as she thanked him gravely.

'Your majesty,' Lord Brandon bowed his tall, broad figure gracefully to Elia's neat, little form. 'I apologise for the mess of the room,' his voice held questions.

'Late night drinking, no doubt,' Elia quizzed him wickedly, impervious to Ashara's muffled gasp. His eyes twinkled unrepentantly back at her and she took a sudden liking to him.

'Guilty, your majesty. Would you care to be seated?' He was quick to remove some clothes from the bed and briefly tidy it for her benefit. His eyes returned to her as she gratefully took a seat.

'It's a pleasure to meet you finally, Lord Brandon. I've heard so many things that I had to quench my desire to see how much truth there were in the rumours,' she murmured, her voice low and soothing as they watched each other guardedly. 'Lady Ashara and I were contemplating a, well, a pastime we used to enjoy as children. A midnight feast. If you are available, we would be grateful if you could join us.'

His eyes held an arrested look but Elia didn't fail to notice that, while his eyes glanced briefly to his younger brothers, they did not glance at Ashara. 'It would be my pleasure to accompany you, your majesty,' he replied cautiously but fearlessly.

'Please, call me Elia. Your little brother does,' she smiled brightly at him, pleased that she had managed to finally visibly puzzle him. 'And of course, your brothers are more than welcome to join us. Your sister, too,' she added, once again escalating the tension a dozen-fold, her own face serene and her posture unbothered.

'That'll be brilliant,' Benjen appeared to be the only one unaffected by the tension in the room, other than Elia. 'What do we do at the Midnight Feast?' He asked eagerly and Elia was not the only one to smile at his enthusiasm.

'We eat the food, of course,' the princess answered promptly. 'It's all the most delicious of the foodstuffs available, and when the hour turns to midnight, there's an ancient magic that makes the food taste even better,' she adds for his benefit, thoroughly enjoying his eyes widening like a waxing moon.

'But we must get the permission from your Lord Father,' Elia added, cautious of having been led astray into inadvertently making an almost promise to the charming brown-haired boy before her. 'If they deem you too young this year, you must make a solemn promise to me to visit me when you're older and I shall host a special Midnight Feast in your honour.'

She stood to her full height, ready to take leave and prepared to see what fruits her sown seeds would bear. Even at her tallest, she had to tilt her head back to look the young Lord Brandon in the face. Not so young, she corrected herself, for he was already older than her by a few years. Ladies married young, men married whenever they chose. She took in his broad shoulders, the strong lines on his face that made him strikingly attractive, the small eyes that glistened so handsomely. He was nice and she could see why Ashara was partial to him; Elia was sure that her friend would lead the man into a merry dance. No doubt both would enjoy it excessively but it held no appeal for her.

They took their leave and Elia once again appreciated how Lord Brandon's manners prevented his eyes from straying to the beauty beside her. It was a politeness that she had not come across often.

Ned insisted that he be called Ned and also insisted on walking them back to their encampment area, as if a sullen guard in white was not protection enough. Knowing Ser Jonathor and his views on Dorne, the additional protection would probably be needed, should there be an attack on her person. Lord Brandon insisted on Benjen staying with him, much to Ashara's relief and Elia's disappointment, though Elia accepted it with her usual grace.

Ashara and Elia conversed with little substance, Ned adding a monosyllabic or disyllabic word on occasion. Elia watched him with great interest from the corners of her eyes; his thoughtful brow, deep-set eyes that looked so damning and severe in such a youthful face. Though there was little hair, the childhood plump was long gone and without having the strong lines that made his brother so arresting, Ned's face was _likable_ and pleasant, with its own hidden strength. Elia surprised herself by taking a liking to the green youth; there was an earnestness, an instinctive integrity and honesty that was refreshing in this part of the world.

'I apologise again, Your Majesty-'

'Elia.'

Ned ignored her interruption. 'I apologise greatly for ruining your dress. I will be happy to recompense in any way you desire-'

Her peal of laughter finally stopped his speech as his cheeks reddened even further. 'Dear Ned, if a princess is incapable of replacing a simple gown, she is not worthy to be a princess. Think nothing of it; I assure you it matters not to me. Thank you for guarding us but I am sure you have other matters to attend to, so I shall take up no more of your time.'

Stammering a farewell, he left.

'You _like_ him,' Ashara's whisper sounded outraged.

'What of it?' Elia's eyes held mischief as she looked at her over her shoulder. 'Be glad you do not have competition for your paramour,' her eyes glittered like a black fire, her smile at once alluring and mysterious as. Ashara rolled her eyes, pouting and sighing, and just followed her.

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><p><span><strong>Author's Note<strong>**: **Words cannot express how touched I am by the positive response to this story. I never expected to get even 5 reviews and to have exceeded that by so much is almost overwhelming.

A big thank you to **Crebel**, **CherryBlossoms016**, **Delena.O**, **Namesarestupid95**, **Opuria**, **PurpleWitch25565**, **TheAntidisestablishmentarian**, **annabellecutie**, and for favouriting the story.

A big thank you to **Carnacki23**, **Donroth**, **Failed to De-anon**, **Firefly-class**, **HeartSpell16785**, **LuanaCiuffreda**, **Namesarestupid95**, **Opuria**, **Ramzes**, **SongsofSiren**, **Tatah Nunes**, **The Lady Lannister**, **annabellecutie**, **bananacupcakes**, **karenabrenes**, **lady fairy goth**, **meanas**, **slaterbug**, **sweetdreamszombie**, **tainted-angel21**, **tinymurph**, **tsundere-awai **and for following this story.

In relation to the reviews, I'll be honest and admit that I have gone to them time and again. Less for inspiration – I actually know exactly how this segment of the story will end and the major events in it – more to get the warm, fuzzy, 'oh-my-goodness-I-didn't-expect-so-much-love' feeling.

Those with accounts, I will be answering your reviews directly rather than taking up space here. Those without accounts, could I request you to write your name or a pseudonym, to make it easier to identify my answers to you.

**Hanna: **I hope you get the chance to read this and enjoy it.

**Guest ?1: **I'm glad you enjoy it. There will definitely be bits that are a little more romanticised. And I am keeping mum on my plans for Eddard but I do hope you enjoy this chapter.

**Delena: **I'm so glad you love it. I don't think there are enough stories focussing on friendships rather than relationships alone, so I'm glad you like it. And I hope this chapter has added a bit more depth to the friendship between Ashara and Elia too.

**Guest ?2: **This story is definitely not abandoned. I can't promise on the speed of chapter uploads but I will endeavour to be much faster next time.

**Guest ?3: **I have to say, I do agree with you. Having said that, my interpretation of Romeo and Juliet is very much that of spoilt, self-absorbed teenagers really. I mean, not as a single point did they employ common sense?! Anyway, R&J aside, this story will definitely be Elia-centric but it will not be biased from purely her point of view. It will address things from Rhaegar's point of view and the Starks'points of view too. I hope you enjoy it.

**Guest ?4: **I hope you enjoy it. Alas, Jaime and Cersei will not be joining us for some time but they will definitely (both of them) have decidedly large roles when they do make an appearance. I am keeping mum on ships, be they requited or unrequited. It makes it so much more fun to read if you don't know the ending, surely?

That said, I sinerely hope you enjoyed the chapter but constructive criticism is cherished too, so please do tell me what you like and disliked about the story. And what your thoughts on the characterisations thus far are.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer****: **I don't own A Song of Ice and Fire or Game of Thrones.

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><p><span><strong>Turn Left For Fate<strong>

**Tubthumping**

'Your past mistakes are meant to guide you, not define you.'

Aoi had to blink at the flurry of activity and excess energy that the Princess brought with her. It was merely seconds before her innate imperturbable nature took over. The only daughter with several brothers, she was familiar with the over-excitable and easily flustered aspects of humanity, but whilst she was an old hand with such behaviour, she had never expected it from the Princess of Dorne.

It was easy to see that she was not quite happy but definitely _satisfied_; there was a half-smile playing with her lips and her eyes held a glint of something that Aoi hadn't seen in a while, _if_ she had ever seen it before. After all, her services had been offered upon the Princess' marriage by a family impoverished by their number of sons and daughters far prettier and marriageable than her. Regardless, she was swift to bring out several gowns, having been even swifter to notice the tear in the one she was wearing now. Such a shame too, she thought, eyeing the beautiful blend of colours with mourning. It had been her favourite one by far.

'Some colours just _scream_ entitlement, don't they?' The Princess' voice held a pensive note and Aoi had automatically murmured an agreement until she saw what the Dornish Princess had been staring at. It was a heavy, disgustingly ornate monstrosity of a rich red velvet that overpowered, yet clashed dizzyingly with black. Neither the material, nor the colours would have been flattering on anything other than a severely malnourished twig of a female, much like some of the previous Targeryan women had looked like, Aoi personally thought. She had oft wondered whether that was due to the inbreeding they were infamous for or whether it was madness that led to so many of their women being clearly unhealthily thin. Princess Elia, for all her slender build and alleged ill health, had a healthy appetite and where the royal women of bygone days had cheeks that caved in, Princess Elia's cheeks were well rounded apples sliding away over the delicate bones that decorated her face.

Of course, there was healthy appetite and then _hearty_ appetite. And that northern girl seemed to take even the heartiness to excess. Fashion differed place to place; within Dorne alone, Aoi knew that what was considered the height of fashion in the Water Gardens was markedly different to the fashion in Sunspear. But no amount of fashion could disguise the rolls of breast pushed up and out of the gown she had worn the day before. Even the royal courtesans in Dorne wouldn't have shown such little class, deeming it more appropriate for a common whorehouse. The face held beauty, certainly, but only for now, Aoi thought pessimistically. Give her one child and she will bear an extra two chins for life. Her waist was already indistinguishable from her hips and she just _had_ the body that was prone to corpulence. But apparently, that was what was considered attractive in this land that took inordinate pride in themselves.

She pushed away such thoughts for the time being. She focused instead on removing the offensive hideous gown, laying several more out, smoothing away real or imaginary creases in them, and trying to limit her mournful glances at the small tear in her favourite gown to a minimum. The choice this time was pure black of a deceptively delicate, shiny material that was surprisingly heavy when worn. It was an absolute contrast to the earlier gown, but just as that had made the Princess of Dorne sparkle with colour and light, this made her an arresting figure that none would look away from. Her skin seemed to absorb the black and appear darker, her hair flowed down her back, blending with her gown, shining almost as brightly as the smooth material. Gracefully settling the folds of the dress around her feet and the Princess of Dorne was once more ready to leave her chambers, nevertheless taking time to drop a grateful smile on Aoi.

The air was crisp outside, the sun present for appearances' sake alone. No doubt, once the day faded into night with the wind gaining energy, Elia's Dornish style of hair would be inadvisable, whipped into knots, but for now, she was content to revel in her admittedly small victories. The first meal was likely to be advanced but she was sure of having plenty of food obtained for her, if only for Lord Whent's own sense of importance but it mattered not. Her feet still made its way towards where the King was certain to be enjoying his meal.

The silence she caused was satisfying, though not gratifying. Elia was aware all eyes were on her, and perhaps it would be considered petty. Regardless, she didn't care. She had made a point. They could interpret it as they willed. The sour look on Aerys' face was not surprising and it was a darkling look he was throwing her way but she made her way to the central table with a false ease, carefully looking carefree.

'My king,' she gave him her politest of all curtseys, head low in subservience just the way he liked it, her voice a well mannered low tone loud enough to carry. In Rhaegar's absence, she took the seat to his right, sitting herself with a delicate grace that would have appeased him somewhat ordinarily.

'What confounded clothing are you wearing, woman?' The words were hissed with venom but Elia had been expecting much worse and was, consequently, somewhat pleased to find her arms free of his claws and his voice audible only to those in their vicinity.

Calmly helping herself to the poorly seasoned meat, Elia answered, careful to keep her voice low in volume as well as tone this time. 'I thought it rather becomes me,' she murmured. 'I realise I commonly wear the colours of our house,' she tilted her head in a show of respect towards the bristling old man beside her. 'But I felt that the affront delivered to myself, with Targaryen blood in my veins, however slight,' she hastened to add before cutting remarks could be made about her Dornish ancestry outweighing the dragon blood. 'By someone with _no_ Targaryen blood, well I felt I should show myself to our greatest advantage. Would you disagree, my king?' She turned speculative eyes on him, and at his disgruntled grunt of assent, bowed her head before turning her eyes towards the food before her, careful not to let a smile or any sign of victory cross her face. It was often a coin's throw whether Aerys was in a mood too mad to be reasoned with or in a mood just sane enough to be manipulated, but it appeared luck was hers for now and it was in a calm silence that she consumed the food in front of her.

The noise resumed soon enough, few words actually directed at the Princess Consort that most deemed below them. It did little to bother Elia. At the end of it all, Dorne had never fallen, the others had. Jaime Lannister's name, however, caught her attention. She took a leisurely bite of the bland bovine meat, before then helping herself to the white wine that Lord Whent had provided an abundance of, another snub, no doubt.

'What is this about Jaime Lannister?' She finally softly asked, careful to make it clear she was directing the question to the king beside her, lest he be offended. A malicious smile crossed his face, full of mania and sadistic pleasure and glee that didn't seem sane. Elia's face remained calmly interested but her muscles had seized; she had to fight against inching away from such madness.

'He's good with a sword,' was uttered with a cackle that made the bile mingle uncomfortably in her stomach. 'And he's a fine looking lad. He could have had any bride of his choosing,' his eyes narrowed with suspicion as they looked at Elia but, after a terse pause, he continued. 'Shame he won't have anything but a white cloak to bed now.'

'He's a wise choice for the Kingsguard,' Elia murmured. It could have been a noncommittal agreement but that a smirk graced her face, painting it sinister and malevolent. The dark eyes glittered, meeting the faded ones of the aged king and for once, there was concord. A peculiarity of the king made it such that he ranted and raved about Elia's shortcomings but he would not tolerate any insult to those of Targeryan blood. And an insult to Elia was an insult to Targeryen blood, however little she held. He had no way of knowing that Elia's satisfaction had little to do with the ancient insult the miserable lord of Casterley Rock had thrown her away. It was rare that events occurred beneficial to Elia and rarer still a day that she could consider lucky, and she was more than content to revel in a day that would drop tools and pawns into her soft palm for her to play with. A plan that had been little more than ideas and notions was now forming like a babe in her belly; she had brought one child to fruition, in spite of the administrations of the conniving healer, Elia suspected. And this plan was greater than any child she could bear; it would shape the world that she ruled for years to come, if she succoured it right. She would make sure to give it the best of her, that her mother and father and brothers would be proud to call her kin.

The sun had barely reached its greatest height, yet all that remained was the midnight feast she had orchestrated. Fortunate that the sour, poorly brewed white drink was slipping down her throat, for it hid a smile of smugness that the Baratheon oaf could have displayed.

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><p><span><strong>Author's Note<strong>**: **So my intention was to have the Midnight Feast take place (and wasn't it fascinating hearing your thoughts on that) but it made the chapter disjointed and way too long. I know this is a little slow on the action but I wanted to introduce Aerys and his interaction with Elia; the Midnight Feast will produce some further interesting interactions that I feel are necessary for the story and then the story is going to pick up speed.

**Reviews****:**

**Jibril: **I'm glad you think of Elia like that. The way I saw it, Elia was brought up in an equal rights, potentially matriarchal society. No way is she going to be spineless. Don't get me wrong – she isn't Oberyn, nor will she act like him. She is her own character but that's what she _will_ be; not an obstacle in someone else's love story or a rape victim or essentially absent from an entire war and political manoeuvring. I hope you enjoy this chapter!

**Guest: **I totally agree with you re friendships, particularly female friendships. It never seems to be reinforced in recent days on TV shows or movies and I do think that's such a shame. Aside from the female equivalent of 'bros over whores' sort of thing, it's also just about the general importance of platonic friendships, male-female, male-male or female-female. If hearts break, who do you go to? That bestie who'll put up with you crying at 3am! And these platonic friendships may not be glamorous or as wildly in love as non-platonic relationships but they're the ones that'llget you through the day! Anyway, rant aside, I am so grateful that you enjoyed the chapter and I would love to hear your views on this one.

**Lady Lyanna: **I make no promises on ships or anything of the sort but all of the major players will come into play at some point. (I can't give too much away – otherwise you won't have any incentive to read future chapters, after all.)

Thank you to **Apollo89**, **CherryBlossoms016**, **CryDevil**, **Delena.O**, **FangAsh67**, **ILikeFanFiction**, **Igor De Souza Santos**, **Namesarestupid95**, **Nise Tucker**, **NoFate2608**, **Opuria**, **PurpleWitch25565**, **Silverspiritowl**, **TheAntidisestablishmentarian**, **annabellecutie**, **billiedog27**, , **kawaii-konnichiwa**, , **kitsune-miko-witch**, **marshall bruce**, **rya 13 **and **turbomagnus** for favouriting this story.

Thank you to **Apollo89**, **Bobbby McFuergeson**, **Carnacki23**, **Donroth**, **Failed to De-anon**, **FangAsh67**, **Firefly-class**, **Frank Junker**, **HeartSpell16785**, **LuanCiuffreda**, **Lyzye**, **Marizhka18**, **MsJynesis70**, **Namesarestupid95**, **Nise Tucker**, **NoFate2608**, **Opuria**, **Pumbie**, **Ramzes**, **Silverspiritowl**, **SongsofSiren**, **Tatah Nunes**, **The Lone Acacia**, **annabellecutie**, **bananacupcakes**, **beautifullyXdark**, **billiedog27**, **bobbinbird**, **dville**, **earendil18**, **hussainsanah**, **karenabrenes**, **lady fairy goth**, **marshall bruce**, **peacock33**, **pinke289**, **rya13**, **sexyevilempress276**, **slaterbug**, **sweetdreamszombie**, **tainted-angel21**, **tinymurph**, **tsundere-awai**, **turbomagnus**, and **xXDarknessFallsWeRiseXx **for following this story!


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